


Erasing the Line (a Crossing the Line remix fic)

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Boners, Canon Divergent, Canon Setting, Canon Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, POV Simon Snow, Pining, Realization, Remix, Simon POV, Spells Gone Wrong, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, The Wavering Wood (Simon Snow), Watford, Watford (Simon Snow), or maybe not so wrong, other kinds of wood, the dryad - Freeform, watford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: One bed. Two boys. Three nights.An errant spell removes Baz's bed from their shared room. SImon and Baz must figure out how to deal with the situation and with each other. A remix of Crossing the Line by f-ing-ruthless-baz.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 47
Kudos: 383
Collections: Carry On Remix





	Erasing the Line (a Crossing the Line remix fic)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crossing The Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17804075) by [f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz). 



> My thanks to my support crew. It seems it takes a village to help me figure out how to write a remix!  
> [BasicBathsheba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasicBathsheba/pseuds/BasicBathsheba), my sounding board when I was trying to choose a fic, my beta once I wrote something, my partner in last minute encouragement, and all around support.  
> [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix), my tireless cheerleader, mood elevator, beta reader, and purveyor of positivity.  
> my Carry On mom squad: [Mudblood428](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mudblood428/pseuds/Mudblood428), [penpanoply](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penpanoply/pseuds/penpanoply), [fight-surrender](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fight_Surrender/works) for video chats, beta reads and all around spirit lifting.  
> [BazzyBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazzyBelle/pseuds/BazzyBelle) for uplifting messages and encouragement.  
> and my eternal thanks to the kind, patient and generous [giishu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=giishu%22) who let me whine and worry and fret about if I was doing a remix right and doing justice to the lovely fic that inspired this and gave me a last minute beta read that settled me down.

**Erasing the Line (The Crossing the Line Remix)**

  


**Simon**

It’s been a bit of a shit day. I couldn’t get any of my spells to come out right in Magickal Words. I was paired with Rhys, which made it worse because he’s always so bloody _kind_ about it. Patient and resigned and it makes me feel as if I’m disappointing him too. Disappointing everyone. 

Except Baz. I can’t ever disappoint him because he’s already expecting me to fail, the bastard. Every failure is another excuse for him to sneer at me and tack on one more disaster of mine to his list of reasons why I don’t belong at Watford. All confirming that I’m a shit mage. 

It’s probably pages long by now. 

Fuck Baz.

At least I’ll have the room to myself for a few hours, seeing as he’s taken to disappearing until almost bedtime lately. Doesn’t even come back to the room before dinner anymore, not since football season ended. 

And after dinner . . . 

I know he goes down to the Catacombs then. I don’t follow him there anymore. 

Not since that night. 

_“You’re the worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen.”_

I know what he does when he’s there. I’ve seen the rat carcasses. 

What I didn’t know before that night is that he goes down there to visit his mum. That she’s buried there. 

_“Ashes, ashes–we all fall down.”_

I can’t let myself think about that. Think about him. 

Baz. 

He takes up too much space in my head already. More so lately. 

More than ever. 

I’m finally at the top of the steps to the turret so I let myself into our room, taking a swift look around to make sure Baz isn’t there. 

As usual, he’s not. 

But neither is his bed. 

I walk into the room cautiously now, my hand over my hip to call my sword, in case this is some trap or glamour set up to confuse me. The room remains decidedly empty, even after I cast a **_“come out, come out, wherever you are._ ** **”**

I cross to Baz’s side of the room, to check if his bed is just invisible or spelled somehow. 

There’s nothing there. I walk right into the space where his bed used to be and find nothing more than a few crumbs from the salt and vinegar crisps he eats at night. 

Maybe it’s happened. Maybe the Mage finally decided it’s time to split us up. 

Wouldn’t Baz have said something in class though? Wouldn’t he have made a production out of it, sneering and reveling in being well rid of me? In front of everyone? 

He’d be as happy as I should be. 

I don’t feel a surge of relief at the thought of him being gone. It’s more like I’ve been punched, the breath knocked out of me. 

His desk is still there, tidy and spotless as usual. It doesn’t give me any clues. 

I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I do it anyway. I haven’t touched his wardrobe since the polecat incident last term. 

I don’t want to think about that either. 

I open the door to his wardrobe with shaking hands and the scent hits me first. His bloody cologne–cedar and bergamot, Penny says it is–and I breathe it in as my eyes briefly close before snapping open to roam over the contents.

Baz’s clothes are in place, like they always are. Shoes shined and neatly lined up, trousers creased and hung with care, his shirts spotless and well spaced out. 

It’s all there. I slump against the wood frame in relief. 

I can’t count how many times I asked the Mage to move Baz, to move me, the first few years. But just now, when I thought it had actually happened, the only emotion that washed over me was _regret._

I feel hollowed out by even the thought of it. Of being here alone every day. In silence. 

Well, I mean, in a more _permanent_ silence. Baz and I don’t talk to each other much as a rule, but when he’s in the room his presence is unmistakable. The soft squeak of his desk chair. The way he taps his pencil when he’s thinking. The click of the en suite door shutting behind him. That intake of breath before he says something particularly crushing, as if he’s pausing for effect. He probably is, the wanker. 

The sound of his breathing at night. 

Fuck. That’s the sound I miss when I’m in the homes during the summer. 

Something I don’t dare let myself put on my list. Don’t let myself think about, if I can help it. 

I shut the wardrobe, lean back against it, and scan the room again. 

One bed. My bed. I narrow my eyes and try to think this through. 

I make a list of possibilities:

  1. **Baz spelled the bed away, because he’s an arse.**



Unlikely, seeing as he’d never spell his own bloody bed out of existence. If he were going to spell a bed into the ether it surely would be mine, not his. 

  1. **Someone else has spelled the bed away, as a prank.**



Possible, but again doubtful. They’d have to get in the room to do it and no one but Baz and I can get in here. (Penny can get into Mummers, and I wish to Merlin I could figure out how she does it, but she’s always had to knock to actually get in our room.) 

And again, whoever might have done it would definitely spell away _my bed_ , not Baz’s, not unless they were terminally stupid. He holds on to grudges. I’m living proof of that. 

  1. **Baz may be moving out, he just hasn’t picked up his things yet.**



I feel a cold rush of dread at this one. It’s possible. It’s the one that makes the most sense, and I hate it for just that reason. I close my eyes and try to think like Baz. I shake my head. Knowing Baz, he’d probably make sure to move his clothes and accessories and stupidly posh toiletries out first, rather than wait for the bed itself to be moved. (Where would he move, though?) (There aren’t any open rooms in Mummers.) (Our room’s the largest, surely the Mage wouldn’t make him share one of the smaller rooms with two people?)

This leads me to a moment of panic that maybe _I’m the one being moved out_ , even though my bed’s the one still in the room. I wrench open the door to my wardrobe, making the whole thing rattle with the force of the motion, and feel the lump in my throat ease as I take in the sight of my rumpled jumpers and wrinkled trousers. All there, just like I left them this morning. 

I take a moment to sort things so it’s a bit more orderly in there. A breather, to occupy my hands with the mundanity of folding and creasing and hanging the clothes straight as I try to sort my thoughts as well. 

  1. **Someone else accidentally cast a spell.**



This is even more unlikely but I can hold onto hope. Maybe it’s one of the eighth years trying to create their end of year spell. I’ve not got any idea why they’d choose to magick Baz’s bed away but creating spells is a tricky business. And those eighth years are an odd lot. 

  1. **Maybe I accidentally spelled his bed away.**



I’ve not really said anything to the Mage and I don’t like to talk about it much with Penny either but sometimes, if I wish hard enough for something, it just _happens._ Even if I don’t use a spell or say the words. It’s not supposed to. That’s not how magic works; Miss Possibelf has drilled the importance of the words into us. The intonation and tone, the elocution and intent. But that’s not always the case for me. Sometimes I think it, and then it’s done. 

I’ve not wished Baz away in a long time. I’ve not asked for a new roommate in years. But my magic is wonky. Everyone knows that. I know that, better than all the rest of them. Maybe I thought it, when he was taking forever in the en suite this morning and I needed to take a piss. Maybe I dreamed his bed away. (I am not going to think about the fact that I have dreams about Baz.) (Violent, bloody dreams.) (Not always.) (I can’t think about those.)

My magic is probably the most likely reason. But I think I’d know if I did it. I was right here all morning. It’s not like I could think it and have it happen hours later. My magic doesn’t work like that. It’s an immediate thing. 

His bed was here this morning. It’s not now. That’s all I know. 

The biggest problem with this option is that I usually can’t reverse my own spells. It could take a week for his bed to come back, if ever. 

I swear Baz is going to end me for this. Even if it isn’t my fault. 

I try to think if I can magic up a bed. I don’t know that there’d even be a spell for that. All the ones I can think of that have anything to do with beds or rest are healing spells. Casting one of those isn’t going to make Baz’s bed reappear. I think about casting an _“as you were”_ but that’s a bit risky, if you don’t know what spell was used in the first place. 

I also don’t want to have to organize my wardrobe again. 

I end up going to dinner with Penny. I think about mentioning the bed thing but I don’t. There’s only so much conversation she’ll tolerate relating to Baz and even though this is more _Baz-adjacent_ than _Baz-related_ she might not see it that way. 

Or she’ll want to come up to the room and _inspect_ everything and _research_ it and it’d be just my luck to have Baz walk in while Penny’s trying to spell his bed back. He’d never believe I didn’t do it on purpose. 

And I really don’t want to talk to Penny about why I’m so unsettled at the thought of not having Baz around.

So I keep quiet, stuff my face with roast beef and potatoes, and take a second helping of pudding. 

There’s still only one bed when I get back and still no sign of Baz. There’s nothing to do but wait. I grab my Greek textbook and settle down on my bed to try to make sense of it. I’m terrible at Greek. 

I mean, I’m terrible at pretty much everything, but Greek mystifies me. 

I hear the doorknob rattle and I drag my eyes down to the page in front of me, trying to calm my breathing. 

I don’t look up when Baz steps into the room. I hear his intake of breath, the hiss of the exhalation just after. 

“What did you do, Snow?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” I say. It comes out sounding a bit defensive.

“Then why’s my bed missing?” Baz says, pointing to the empty space against the wall where his bed used to be.

I glance at the spot as nonchalantly as I can and then at Baz again. “I have no idea. It was like that when I got here.” 

Every word is true. 

“Right,” Baz replies with a sneer. “You had nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”

“I swear!”

Baz folds his arms over his chest. “So you didn’t just do that thing where you get really stressed and make something happen just by thinking about it?”

Fuck. I hate that he knows I can do that. 

“Why would I think your bed away, Baz?”

“To get rid of me, obviously.”

“Is that all it would take?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say, as if he’s just proven the point. “Like I said, it wasn’t me.”

“So my bed just disappeared on its own, is that it?” I can hear the sarcasm dripping from his words.

I pull my attention back to my book. “Maybe it just wanted to get away from you,” I say. “I don’t blame it.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’ll just get Baz all riled up. It’s about the only thing I am good at–riling Baz up. I wait for him to snap at me, to sneer and curl his lip. I dart a quick glance at him. 

He’s just staring at me. I lower my head and flip another page in my book. I can see him out of the corner of my eye. Baz keeps staring at me, his nostrils flaring as if he’s caught a whiff of something nasty, then he huffs and slams his way out of our room. 

I drop my head back against the headboard and shut the book. I wasn’t getting anything out of it anyway. 

I’m woken up hours later, by Baz shaking my shoulder roughly. “Snow. Get up.”

I roll away from him and pull the blanket over my head. 

“I said, get up.”

“Why?” I’ve got my eyes shut, face turned to the wall. I don’t want to talk about this. It’s not my bloody fault he doesn’t have a bed. He can spell one up for himself, the tosser, with one of his fancy French spells or some of that Shakespearean twaddle he’s always spouting. If anyone should know how to fix this, it’s Baz. 

“I’m sleeping in the bed,” Baz says. “You can sleep on the floor.”

I’m fully awake now. “Sod off, Baz. This is my bed you’re talking about.”

“You should have thought of that before you got rid of mine.”

I roll over and glare at him. I don’t know how well he can see me, tucked into the shadowy corner of my bed. He probably can, with his stupid vampire vision. “I told you this already, it wasn’t me. I didn’t do this.”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor, Snow.” Baz looms over me. I can’t quite see his eyes but his voice has dropped into more of that menacing growl he uses when he’s truly irritated. 

It always makes me want to react. I get a smug bit of satisfaction that I can make him lose his cool like that. 

I shrug. I know he hates that too. “Spell yourself a new one, then. I’m sure you can magick one up.”

“There aren’t spells for that, you ignoramus. Now, get up.”

I look at him, really look at him. There’s a bit of moonlight coming in from the window he’s standing under. His voice sounds angry but when I get a good look at his face his expression doesn’t match. 

He looks . . . well, if I didn’t know better I’d say he looks pained, more than anything. But that’s not quite right either. He looks unnerved, unsure. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz look like that. Not even when the chimera was breathing fire at us in the Wavering Wood... 

It’s late and I’m tired and I’m honestly as unnerved by all of this as Baz is. It’s the only explanation I’ve got for what I do next. “I’m not going to sleep on the floor, Baz, so . . .” I let my words trail off. I’ve not thought this through but I find myself scooting closer to the wall. 

“So what?”

“So get in and shut up,” I say, lifting my blanket and motioning at him, before turning away to face the wall again. I don’t want him to catch sight of my face. I can feel my cheeks burning. 

“I’m not getting in bed with you, Snow.” There’s a crack in his voice when he says it. It’s not said as sharply as I’d expected. 

I’m holding my breath. I clear my throat before I reply. “Suit yourself. The offer’s there.”

I can hear that intake of breath again but he doesn’t say anything. I count my breaths as the seconds tick by. 

And then the mattress dips as Baz sits on my bed. I can’t help but peek over my shoulder at him. The thought that _he’s never sat on my bed before_ runs through my mind, but then Baz is talking again, voice clipped with every syllable crisp and sharp edged. “Just so we’re clear on this, Snow,” he says as he reclines on the very far edge of my bed, blanket pulled all the way up to his neck. “This doesn’t make us friends. It doesn’t change anything. Imagine there’s a line down the centre of this bed. You stay on your side, I stay on mine. Any crossing of the line is to be considered an act of aggression and declaration of war.” He pauses and then grits out the last words. “Punishable by death.”

“Can’t be valid with the roommates Anathema, you prat.” I curl away from him, pressing myself up against the cool stone wall. 

“I can wait until we’re out of the room to end you,” Baz hisses. 

“That’s assuming you’re not the one crossing the line.” 

“I can assure you, I won’t be the one doing that.” Baz tugs on our shared blanket, leaving me with just a scrap to cover my legs. He’s bound to be all cocooned in the folds, like he is when he’s in his own bed. I resist rolling over to look. 

It’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

As long as I make sure to stay on my side of the bed. 

This may be the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. 

________________________

I wake up to a cool sensation against my back. The wanker must have taken all the covers in the night. I shift and that’s when I feel it.

The weight of an arm slung across my waist. Puffs of breath against my shoulder. Strands of hair tickling my skin. 

It’s Baz. 

So much for him not crossing the line. I’m more amused by this than anything. I’d gone to sleep with the worry that I’d somehow roll over, smack him in the face, and trigger the bloody Anathema in my sleep. 

I’d never expected to wake up to Baz wrapped around me, one of his cold feet pressed between mine, his slow even breaths against my skin sending shivers through me.

Right. I need to extricate myself from this right now. 

It’s nice, though, I’m not going to lie. 

But no, not a good idea to let myself luxuriate in the embrace of my arch-nemesis, no matter how comforting and . . . 

Fuck. I need to wake Baz up. 

“Baz.”

Nothing.

“Baz.” I say it a bit louder. “Wake up.” I wiggle my shoulder, but that just makes him bury his face deeper into my neck and groan. 

I close my eyes. As strangely pleasant as this is, I know he’s going to go mental when he realizes what he’s doing. I need to wake him up, even if I kind of like it. “Baz, I think . . .” I can’t keep the hint of amusement out of my voice as I keep talking. “I think you crossed the line.”

“What?” It comes out muffled, his breath huffing against my skin. I shiver again. 

I know right when Baz realizes. He makes a strangled sound and then he’s pushing himself away so quickly he almost topples off the bed. 

I roll over to face him and laugh at the way he’s staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and panicked. “I suppose this means I have to kill you now, Baz.” 

He blinks but keeps his gaze fixed above us. 

“Breakfast first, though. I’m not one to make a habit of missing meals, even if it means I have to delay putting an end to my handsy nemesis.” I sit up and nudge him with my foot. “Go on, then. Move. You’re in my way.”

Baz doesn’t just get out of my way–he bolts out of the bed so fast he practically teleports across the room. Out of the room, in fact, the door slamming behind him. 

I shake my head. He must know I was kidding. He’s not usually one to back down from a fight. 

Unless he’s lying in wait for me, out of reach of the Anathema. 

It makes me doubly cautious when I open the door to go down to breakfast a short while later, but there’s no sign of him. Not on the landing, not down by Dev and Niall’s room, not anywhere. 

Baz doesn’t show up at breakfast.

He’s in class but he acts as if I’ve been spelled invisible. I’ll usually get at least a sneer or an arch of his brow but he doesn’t even spare me a glance today. 

It makes me feel cold and strangely hollow, all through the morning and into lunch time, even when I’ve got Penny chattering at me from across the dining hall table. I’m only half-listening to what she’s saying, my eyes fixed on Baz as he sits picking at his lunch, at his usual table with Dev and Niall.

I take another bite of my ham and cheese roll. 

“Did you hear me, Simon?” Penny’s strident tone drags my attention away from Baz’s upright posture. “Did it happen to your room too?”

She’s got my attention now. “Did what happen?” I ask.

I get an eye roll from her. “What I was just telling you. About the beds disappearing. Did that happen to you and Baz too?”

It’s not just us then. I don’t know what to make of that, other than to be relieved it wasn’t an inadvertent fuck up of mine. I can at least cross that possibility off the list. “Yeah,” I nod. “Found just the one bed when I went up after class.” I’m careful not to mention whose bed. 

Penny nods back at me. “Mine was the one missing, and Keris was already in our room with Trixie so there was no point in me staying. I went and bunked with Agatha.” She gets a crease in her forehead as she looks at me. “Whatever did you and Baz do about it? I half expected to find you both absent this morning. I thought for sure you’d come to blows over the whole thing and both been tossed out by the Anathema.” She leans forward expectantly waiting for my response. 

“Uh. Um. I was in bed before Baz got back.” Technically not a lie. 

Penny’s eyes widen. “Well, that’s certainly one way to deal with it.” She pats my hand. “Well done, Simon. Conflict avoidance is a useful tactic in the right circumstances.” She darts a glance over her shoulder at Baz. “I’m surprised Baz didn’t drag you out of bed demanding an explanation.”

I shrug. “Probably thought I’d done something stupid and fucked it all up.” 

Also not a lie. 

“Well, points to Baz for conflict avoidance as well. Where on earth did he sleep?”

It takes me a moment to catch my breath after I choke on my bite of roll and by then it’s time for us to head to class, so I’m spared having to give her an answer. 

Baz’s bed is still missing when I get back to the room. I’m alone there after class and again after dinner. It’s pretty clear Baz is bound and determined to avoid me, even more so than usual. 

I do my schoolwork and somehow muddle my way through my assignment for Greek. I take a shower and try to stay awake. 

I could let Baz have the bed tonight. I can sleep on the floor. There must be a spell to cushion the stones. I run through the possibilities in my head but I’m not brave enough to try to cast any. With my luck I’d spell a hole in the floor and end up falling into Rhys and Gareth’s room. 

It’s not like the floor is much worse than some of the beds I’ve slept in at the homes. I can just curl up on my blanket. 

But I don’t want to. And not just because I want to take the piss with Baz and be a shit about it. It’s not that. 

It’s just that, well, it wasn’t that bad sharing, if I’m going to be honest. And even though Baz said it doesn’t make us friends now, I can’t help but wonder if somehow, if we keep at it, that maybe we might be? Friends, that is.

I’m too tired to think it through. All I know is that I didn’t mind sharing. 

And I certainly didn’t mind waking up to the cool sensation of Baz pressed to me. I don’t know what to make of that, other than I tend to run hot and he tends to run cold so maybe that made sleeping together easier on us both. 

It sounds right daft when I say it. 

I can’t keep my eyes open. I dim the lights and climb into bed, scooting my way to the wall, leaving as much space as possible on the bed for Baz. I turn the sheets and blanket down, as a silent invitation. 

I don’t know what to expect. 

_____________________________

_I’m surrounded by fire and the air around me singes my skin. The drawbridge is down and flames are licking up the sides of the White Chapel. I can hear screams and shouts, the thud of doors, the staccato beat of running feet._

_I hear the Mage shouting. “Simon, do it!”_

_I don’t know what he wants me to do. There’s flames all around me. I can’t see through the smoke._

_I can’t see anything but fire and shadows and smoke._

_And Baz._

_The flames part for him as he makes his way across the cobblestones of the courtyard. He shouldn’t be here. He’s in danger. He’ll go up like a Roman candle with all this fire around him._

_All it would take is one spark._

_One spark and he’d be gone forever._

_I’m shouting at him to go, to get away, and the Mage keeps shouting at me to do it and I know what he wants and I can’t . . . I can’t._

_I won’t._

_I wave my sword at Baz, motion him to go away, but he stands there haloed by the flames and looks at me._

_I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him burn._

_I close my eyes and think about water, think about the cool, shimmering wetness of it. I open my eyes to see a swirling vortex lift out of the moat, a miniature typhoon headed right towards us._

_I turn to shout to Baz, to tell him I’ve got him, he’s safe, I’ll drench him in water and keep him safe._

_And that’s when a spark hits his sleeve. Blazes into a burst of flames and starts to travel up his arm._

_His eyes meet mine._

_“Baz!!”_

_I’m too late, it’s too late, I’m too late . . ._

I wake up drenched in sweat, clutching at the front of Baz’s pyjamas, face buried in his neck. 

He’s here. He’s in the bed with me. 

Thank magic, he’s not awake. I’m trembling, my skin radiating heat. As if I’m still there amidst the flames. 

I can’t shake the image of Baz lighting up. 

_I was too late._

I don’t know what the fuck that all means but I’m not letting go of Baz. He’s here. He’s alive. He might kill me for this but I don’t care right now. 

I’m pressed against the coolness of him, trying to match my panicked breathing to the slow, steady pace of his. 

Baz mumbles something unintelligible and then shifts a bit, his one arm coming around my shoulders, the other landing on my waist. “‘S ok, Simon, it’s ok.” He turns his head, so his breath puffs against my hair. “It’s ok.”

And it is ok. It’s better than ok. I slide my arm around his waist, rest my head on his chest and breathe in time with him. 

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out.

And my eyes drift closed to the sensation of Baz’s fingers combing through my hair. 

__________________________

I wake up with my head on Baz’s chest, my hand tangled in his posh pyjamas. The scent of him surrounds me and I breathe it in, keeping my eyes closed, trying to make this moment last. I _like_ this. My leg’s hitched over his thigh and I’m just getting my bearings when Baz catapults himself away from me, to sit on the edge of the bed, back facing me and shoulders hunched. 

At least he didn’t bolt out of the room this time. I sit up, rub the sleep out of my eyes and shift on the bed, my pyjamas bottoms tightening as I do. I glance down at my crotch and realize why. 

Fucking hell. My face gets hot. No wonder Baz won’t look at me. I’ve got a morning stiffy and from the way he’s keeping his eyes averted but not getting up off the bed, I’m almost certain he’s sporting one too. 

“Uh, Baz.”

He glances over his shoulder at me and I can see the faint tinge of pink on his cheeks. His eyes dart down to my groin and then he resolutely looks away again. 

“Listen, Baz, I’m sorry, it’s just one of those–”

“Don’t you dare say another word, Snow,” Baz interrupts me and marches off to the en suite, slamming the door behind him. 

I’m not going to say there was a _stiffness_ to his gait just now but . . . 

Yeah, I am going to say it. 

I wish I knew what he was thinking. 

I don’t know what I’m thinking. 

I go down to breakfast while Baz is in the shower. I think I’d make whatever this is worse if I stayed right now, and I know I don’t want to do that. 

It’s early and there’s hardly anyone there. I don’t have it in me to be around other people right now, so I grab a few scones and take them with me. I can eat them as I walk the grounds. 

I’ve got some pent up energy I need to work out. My feet end up taking me to the Wavering Wood. 

I swing my sword back and forth, clearing branches, scything my way through the underbrush. The air is crisp and cool, the breeze lifting the matted curls from my forehead. I wish it could clear my thoughts away as easily. I level a particularly brutal stroke at a tree stump, splinters flying when I make contact. 

“Why must you savage the wood so, Chosen One?” A dryad materializes out of nowhere, glaring at me from where she’s hovering a few feet away. 

I’ve carved up a fairly wide swath of destruction. I wipe a trickle of sweat from my forehead. “I’m just thinking is all. Can’t a person think without an audience around here?”

“Stop thinking with your _sword,”_ she replies, leveling a look at me that sets my insides shriveling with shame, what with the way she says it and all. It’s as if she’s looking right through me, at my innermost thoughts, and I don’t want anyone poking their nose in there. Not today. Not after this morning. Not making cracks about my _sword_. 

She’s staring down her nose at me and it’s so disturbingly like Baz that it makes me break into a cold sweat. “Stop looking at me, alright? I’ll go. Can’t get a moment’s peace, can I?”

“Peace is found within yourself, Chosen One. Think on what, or who, is unsettling you. Maybe then you’ll find your answer.” She gives me one last penetrating glare and then floats off into the trees. 

Blasted woodland sprites. 

_______________________

  
  


Agatha and I have been on what she calls _“a break”_ for two weeks now, so she doesn’t sit with us at mealtimes anymore. Says it’s better if we have some space. 

That’s what I get for taking forever to rescue her from that well, I suppose. How was I to know that’s where she’d ended up? I can’t fight off ne’er-do-wells and cravens and crawl down a bloody well all at the same time, now can I? I got her out before the water got too high. 

I told her that, too. That she can always count on me.

 _“I’ll always save you. I’m good at it.”_

And I get better at it every time.

But I don’t think it’s that, not really. I mean, yeah, she thought she was going to bloody well drown, but it’s just one more thing on her list. 

The list of things that are problematic about being my girlfriend. 

It’s apparently a long list. 

_“You’re just a cat burning through his nine lives, Simon. And mine, as well.”_

Agatha hates that part of it, but that’s part of me. That’s who I am, I mean. Things come after me or threaten the magickal world and I fight them off. That’s what I _do_. 

Penny’s all in. Missions, mayhem, adventuring. She’s my sidekick. My dread companion, as she says. 

Agatha never wanted that. I think what she wants is a normal boyfriend. Well, not a _Normal_ boyfriend, but someone who not only admires her, but also appreciates the things she likes, and spends time with her. Time that doesn’t involve midnight werewolf hunts or multiple near-death experiences. 

I get it. I’m a terrible boyfriend when you look at it like that. She’s probably right about us taking a break. 

I feel like I should be missing her more than I do. I mean, I do miss having her around and holding her hand and feeling like _I_ _belong with someone._ But it’s a bit like when I’m in the care homes for the summers. I don’t really think about her. Not all the time. Not in the way a boyfriend should, I guess. 

I get my food and find Penny at lunchtime. She’s on me as soon as I sit down. “Simon, have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“About the beds!”

“Are they back then?” The twinge of regret I feel is unexpected. I mean, I obviously want the beds back, but this unspoken truce with Baz has been . . . well, it’s been nice. Not friends, according to him, but not really enemies anymore. 

It’s hard to consider someone your nemesis when you’re sprawled on his chest, breathing in the scent of his posh shampoo. 

Not to mention the other _developments_ as well. I’ve spent half the morning parsing out the morning wood situation. 

Not the Wavering Wood. The one in my pants. 

And Baz’s too, by my reckoning. 

Penny’s tapping my hand with her spoon. “Simon, pay attention. No, they’re not back yet but I know why they're gone!”

It all comes out in a rush. Seems Cressida Stainton is the one that mucked up the beds. 

Tried to spell the beds in her room together with _“there was only one bed”,_ while her roommate was away for the weekend, and managed to spell half the beds of Watford into thin air. 

“Didn’t think Cressida was that powerful,” I say. “She’s a fifth year, right?”

“She’s a lot more powerful than Philippa, I’ll tell you that. Just doesn't have the control, obviously,” Penny answers. 

I wince. Comments about control of magic always hit me a bit hard, since I’m absolute rubbish at it, but mentions of Philippa hit harder. 

It’s been two years but it’s still not an easy thing to think about. Penny’s usually more restrained about mentioning it, knowing it makes me feel guilty and usually gets me on a rant about Baz. 

But I don't today. 

I’ve noticed Baz blanches an even whiter shade of pale and grimaces whenever Philippa’s name crops up. Not a sneering grimace either. It’s more a pained one. I’d call it mortified if it were anyone other than Baz. 

I’d have said Baz was immune to embarrassment or remorse but I’m rethinking that. 

Embarrassed is exactly how he’s been acting the last two mornings. 

Which is practically the only time I see him. He ignores me in class, barely shows up for meals, and fucks off to who knows where until late. Well, I know where. It’s probably the Catacombs. 

I wish he’d just come back to the room. This bed situation has changed things between us. Our relationship.  
  
Well, I don’t mean _relationship._ I don’t know what I mean. It’s that we’ve got a truce of sorts going now and it’s so fucking nice to not be fighting all the time. 

I don’t want to go back to sniping and viciousness when this bed situation gets sorted. 

_I like this._ I don’t know what the fuck _this_ is but I like it better than fighting. 

Penny’s still talking, and I should probably pay attention before she whacks me with the spoon she’s waving in my face. 

“Cressida’s getting a reprimand for certain, but Gareth said no one’s been able to completely reverse the spell. That’s why they’ve not put the beds back yet. Seems they’ve got to do it bit by bit, so the beds don’t all show up in the same place.” Penny grins. “Imagine if all the missing beds just manifested on the pitch.”

“Coach Mac would have an aneurysm.” He would. The pitch is holy ground to him. 

“Or if they suddenly appeared in the dining hall!”

Our room is empty when I head up to the turret after class. Of course it is. Still only one bed and I’m strangely relieved by that. 

I meet Penny in the library after dinner because my Greek is truly a disaster and I need her help. Professor Minos kept rolling his eyes at me today and that’s not a pleasant sight, let me tell you. Sent my paper back with more corrections than words I’d written. 

It’s late by the time I get back and shower. I’m knackered, but I’m determined to talk this out with Baz tonight–before it gets sorted back to how it was. 

I don’t want us to get back to how we were.

I want to keep going with _this_. It took me all morning savaging the Wavering Wood to figure myself out. I’m not going to get sidetracked. 

Not this time. 

I get into bed, press myself against the wall, and turn back the covers, like I did last night. And then I do my best to stay awake. 

I go over the list of things I love about Watford. 

I make some alterations to it. 

I run through a litany of all the magickal creatures I’ve encountered, on my missions for the Mage. Then I try to do it alphabetically.

I’m conjugating Greek verbs, which proves I’m truly desperate to stay awake, when the door creaks open and Baz tiptoes in. 

He’s unnaturally quiet most days but he’s trying to be silent tonight, I can tell. There’s hardly a rustle as he pulls his pyjamas out and the en suite door barely clicks when he shuts it behind him. 

I’m practically holding my breath, waiting for him to come back. 

He does, with a brief pause to hang up his clothes, because he’s an absolute prat and can’t just dump them on his desk chair like I do. 

Baz stands by the bed for a long time before he gets in. 

He’s as far from the centre of the bed as possible, covers tucked all the way up under his chin, eyes focused on the ceiling. 

“Hey,” I say and for once I’ve caught him by surprise. 

“Crowley, Snow. I thought you were asleep.” Baz turns his head to look at me. It’s dim in the room but there’s still enough moonlight coming in from the window that I can see a fair bit. His hair’s all mussed and his hands are clutching at the blanket. 

“I was waiting for you.”

“You can’t stalk me in my own room, Snow. Really, that’s going a bit too far.”

“I’m not stalking you.”

“Creepily lurking in your bed is stalking.”

“It’s my bed. How can I be lurking?” 

“The same way you always do.” 

“I’m not the one who goes sneaking around the grounds at night, being all mysterious and menacing.” Fuck, this isn’t going the way I planned. We’re bickering again. 

“I’m not sneaking around the grounds, you nightmare. I’m trying to go to sleep. So kindly fuck off and let me.”

“I told you I was waiting to talk to you.” 

Baz huffs and a strand of his hair drifts off his face. It looks good like this, all tumbled around in waves, not slicked back and severe.

“So, talk. End my misery, Snow, and let me go the fuck to sleep.”

“Listen, I don’t think we can keep avoiding each other. We need to talk about this.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Baz directs his glare at the ceiling again. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“There is though.” I scoot just a bit closer to him. “Are you going to kill me, Baz?” It comes out as a whisper but I know he can hear me. 

There’s silence for a long moment then Baz whispers back. “Some day, probably.” He sounds resigned. I’d say almost sad, if I didn’t know better. 

Maybe I don’t know anything at all. 

My mouth feels dry but I need to keep talking to him. “I mean are you going to kill me for crossing the line?”

Baz sighs and it sounds like it comes from the very depths of him. “No, I can’t very well do that, can I? You didn’t kill me for doing it.” He inhales. “I suppose we’re even.”

“Can we forget about the line?” It’s out before I think it through but I mean it. I really do. 

His head whips around to face me, eyes shadowed as he moves out of the moonlight. I can’t read his face. Not with the light behind him now. “Why?”

I scoot over another inch. “Well, clearly we’re rubbish at keeping to our sides, wouldn’t you say? So what’s the point of it even?”

He looks up at the ceiling again. Merlin, he’s cagey. “Are you trying to cuddle up to me now, Snow? I’d not have pegged you for a cuddler.” It comes out sharp and dripping with sarcasm. 

I’ve hit a nerve then. 

“What would you do if I said yes?”

His head whips in my direction for an instant before he turns away to growl at me. “What?”

“Listen, I’m not explaining this well but . . . well, I like it. I like how cold you are.”

“That’s hardly a reason, Snow.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to tell you something, you prat.” I am trying to say something, even if I’m making a hash of it. “I liked feeling your chest rise and fall in time with your breathing. It helped me calm down last night.” 

“Calm down from what?”

“One of my nightmares. It helped, Baz. _You_ helped, even though you didn’t realize it.”

“Is that why you were draped over me this morning?”

I bury my face in my pillow and groan. “Are you going to kill me if I say yes?”

There’s silence for a minute again. “But you hate me, Snow.” It’s said softly, sadly. None of the bite of Baz’s previous words.

“No, Baz, you hate me. You always have. Or at least I thought you did. . .”

“What do you even mean by that?”

“You’ve been different.” I don’t know if I should tell him about what he did last night. He may not be about to kill me for crossing the line, but he damn well might end me for telling him he cuddled me back and stroked my hair and fucking _soothed me_ back to sleep. 

And called me _Simon._ He’s never called me Simon, not even on our first day. 

Fuck. I’ve been waiting all day to talk to him and now that I’ve got him right where I want him, I can’t seem to get the words out. 

Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he didn’t know it was me. 

But he said my name. He held me close. That has to mean something, right?

Baz is facing me but I can’t quite get a decent read on his face. It’s shadowed, the moonlight dimmer as it shines from behind him. I’m sure the wanker can see my face. I’ve probably got some pathetic, eager expression I should already be regretting. 

He clears his throat. “Different how, Snow?” There’s no sharpness to him. It’s almost . . . well, it’s almost as if he wants to know. 

“You were sleeping, so I’m not sure you meant it but still. . .”

Baz heaves a put-upon sigh. “Meant what, Snow? I’m not here to play twenty questions with you. You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“I’d just woken up from one of my nightmares–”

Baz interrupts me. “A bad one?” I peer at him in the dark. He knows about them, just like I know about his, but I can’t be imagining the concern in his voice. I know I can’t be. His voice _never_ sounds like this. And most certainly never with me. 

Except for last night. It was gentler, if that’s even possible, when it’s Baz I’m talking about. 

“Yeah. Really bad.” 

There’s another pause. Then even softer. “How bad?” 

“Bad enough. I was still shaking when I woke up, could hardly catch my breath.” I inhale and then keep talking. “You started mumbling that it would be ok and you pulled me in next to you. . . and well, yeah.”

“I . . . clearly had . . . I had no idea where I was.” The edge is back to his tone but he’s hurried as he says it, almost stumbling over the words. 

“You called me Simon.”

His head pivots sharply, so he’s staring up at the ceiling again. No, not staring this time. The moonlight lets me see him a little better this way. His eyes are tightly closed, his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

“It helped, you know. It helped a lot, Baz.” In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. I’ve said this much, I may as well keep going. He’s not killed me yet. “I mean that. You helped me calm down. So . . . thank you for crossing the line for me.” 

Baz doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t act like he’s even heard me. 

Fine, then. If that’s how he’s going to be. I thought we were making progress, I thought we’d changed something. I thought _crossing the line_ meant something more than just overstepping the imaginary boundary between us in this bed. 

I thought it meant there could be an _us_. 

Fuck, what am I even thinking?

Obviously I’m a moron, just like he’s told me for the last six years. A hopelessly naive moron. 

I don’t know why I thought he’d be any different. He’s not. This is just more convenient than sleeping on the floor and he’s just biding his time until we can go back to our usual brand of animosity and spite. 

I’m angry. I’m angry and disappointed and fucking _bereft_ , if I’m going to be honest. Fuck, I’m thick if I actually thought I could be Baz Pitch’s friend. 

Or something—no, that’s even more daft and stupid of me. I make a show of rolling away, turning my face to the stone wall, yanking the covers with enough force to make Baz yelp. “Whatever, then. Goodnight.” I growl the words out, not even bothering to be civil anymore. 

I stew in the gathering silence, cursing myself for being foolish enough to open up, addled enough to think I could be honest with Baz, just this once. This time when it actually meant something. 

The bed creaks as Baz shifts and I wonder if he’s going to get up and walk out, sick to death of me and my pathetic attempts to bridge this chasm between us. 

The mattress dips but it’s not from Baz sitting up. He’s rolled close enough that I can feel the press of his chest against my back and his arm gingerly slides around my waist. 

“This all right then, Snow?” Baz whispers, his breath raising the hairs on the back of my neck. 

“Yeah.” I don’t trust myself to say anything more but I do let myself lean back into him the tiniest bit. His arm tightens around my waist. 

My hand slides down his forearm until it rests against the back of his hand and then our fingers are intertwining. I squeeze once, holding my breath. 

And then Baz squeezes back, his head coming to rest on my shoulder. “Sleep well, Snow. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

I don’t know if Baz is quoting the Dread Pirate Roberts on purpose or if it’s just by chance. I love _The Princess Bride._ I don’t know how many times I’ve watched it. That film was one of the only ones available at the care home I stayed in two summers ago. I’ve practically memorized all the dialogue. 

Baz’s fingers are cool between mine but they’re warmer than they were a minute ago. 

I think about the Dread Pirate Roberts. I think about how everyone hated him and feared him. I think about how Buttercup didn’t realize the love of her life was the man in black, because he was wearing a disguise. Assuming a persona. 

I think about Baz. 

I think he’s a bit like Westley. Doing what he needs to do to survive. 

But I think I can see past what he’s projecting. 

I hope I’m right. 

I think I am. 

There’s only one thing I can think to say in response. 

“As you wish.” I close my eyes, concentrating on the rise and fall of Baz’s chest. “Good night, Baz.”

“Good night, Snow.”

  
  


_______________________

Morning arrives too quickly. I blink at the bright sunlight streaming in from the window. The rays of light are glinting in Baz’s dark hair. He’s so close I can count every eyelash resting against his cheek, see the pattern of blue veins beneath his skin, feel the breaths coming from between his parted lips. 

We’re so tangled up in each other I can hardly tell where I end and Baz begins. His head’s resting on my arm (which is well on its way to being completely numb), his arm’s still circled around my waist (fuck, my hand’s halfway up the back of his shirt), and I’ve somehow slipped my thigh between his. 

I don’t want to move, I don’t want to speak, I don’t even want to fucking breathe and somehow break the spell of this moment. It’s warm, I’m still drowsy, and this is so bloody nice. 

Except for the part where my arm’s all pins and needles and starting to hurt. I’m going to have to shift it out from under him. It takes me a bit to slide it out but I manage to do it without waking Baz up. I rest my freed hand against his chest, the smooth silk of his pyjamas cool and slick against the calluses my sword has left on my skin. Baz sighs and moves even closer, his head coming to rest against my shoulder. 

The scent of his posh shampoo surrounds me, his hair tickling where it brushes against my neck, his tiny snores puffing against my skin as he drifts back to sleep. 

I breathe him in, pull him to me and rest my cheek against his hair. 

It’s a series of shifts and movements that bring us ever closer, chests almost pressed against each other, my leg sliding further between his own. 

Which is when I feel it. The firm outline of it against my thigh. It makes me twitch in my own pyjama bottoms and I can feel the heat rising in my face. And other places. 

This. Again. 

Baz murmurs something and rubs his leg against the outside of mine. 

That’s not helping my situation any. Baz’s either, by the feel of it. 

Bloody hell. 

“Baz,” I whisper, my lips brushing his hair. It’s silky soft. I kind of lose myself in the feel of it against my lips for a moment, but then the other sensations clamor for attention again. 

“Baz,” I say again. “Are you . . . are you up?” Fuck, that’s a stupid thing to say. He’s more than _up._ He’s practically standing at fucking attention and so am I. _Again_. “Baz?”

I shift my thigh against his crotch, just a bit, the tiniest amount of friction. 

_Fuck._

The reaction is immediate, as Baz startles and pushes away from me, a panicked look in his smoke grey eyes. I grab his pyjama shirt and fist it in my hand, to keep him from getting too far from me. 

“Don’t.” I move closer. “Wait. Please.” Baz swallows, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. He looks . . . well, fuck it, he looks fucking _vulnerable_ like this. Shocked, a little scared, not a hint of a sneer on his face. 

He’s beautiful. 

His hair’s all mussed, strands in his eyes. 

Mesmerising eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to him. I can see the green and blue, flecks of both mixed in with the grey. 

Not grey. More like silver. Moonlight on water. 

“Baz, don’t. I . . . well, I like this.” 

He blinks at me, his gaze darting from my eyes to my lips, then back up. I can feel a flush creeping up from my neck, to my cheeks, to the tips of my ears. 

And then I’m looking at his lips and closing the space between us. He doesn’t draw away. If anything he leans into me, eyes closing as his lips part. 

Kissing Baz is nothing like kissing Agatha. Blast it all, I don’t want to be thinking about Agatha right now. 

I close my eyes, slide a hand into the silky softness of his hair and part my lips for him. 

Our mouths slide over each other, our breaths mingling as my tongue glides along his lower lip and then makes contact with his. 

It’s electric. Like a circuit’s been completed, a rush of heat that runs from him right into the core of me. It traces its way through my arms, my legs, to the tightening pressure in my groin, the beat of my heart thundering in my chest. 

Baz hooks his leg around me, pulling me to him, bringing my thigh into even more intimate contact with his body. And then his hands are in my hair, stroking along my jawline, tracing patterns against my skin that make me tremble. 

It startles me when he pulls back abruptly an instant later, breaths coming fast and uneven. His eyes drop down to my chest and that’s when I remember. 

I’m still wearing my cross. 

But it’s already too late. Baz is scrambling away, until he’s standing at the side of the bed staring down at me, looking for all the world as if I punched him, rather than spent the last ten minutes slipping him the tongue and rubbing myself against the boner in his pants. 

Maybe I did punch him. Not really, but metaphorically, with my cross. I sit up in bed and grab it, giving the chain a hard enough yank that it scrapes the back of my neck. It’s enough to break it though. I look up at Baz and deliberately toss it across the room. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. . . “

“Neither of us were, Snow.” He’s starting to close off, his arms crossing over his chest, his eyes narrowing, eyebrows lowering. 

I don’t want that. It feels like it’s all slipping away, like this moment is fading into mist and haze. 

“Why would you even do that?” Baz demands. He’s looking at the floor now, shoulders hunched, hands grasping his elbows. 

What does he mean? The cross? The kiss? “Do what?”

“What do you think? Why did you kiss me?” He meets my eyes again. I can’t read him but it’s like everything hinges on my next words. 

I’m not good with words. I’m going to fuck this up. I’m going to make a right hash of it. 

“I dunno.” Fuck, what is wrong with me? I want to pull the words back as soon as they leave my mouth. Baz takes a step back and I scramble to the edge of the bed, one hand reaching for him. “I wanted to, ok? I _liked_ it.” He takes another step back, almost to where his bed would be if it were still here.  
  
Too far for me to reach him. In more ways than one, I think, from the way he’s looking at me now. 

“In what alternate reality do you actually _like_ kissing me, Snow? It’s absurd.”

“Well, it’s not like you weren’t kissing me back, you know.” 

“I’m gay, Snow. Kissing blokes is part of the package.”

“You are?”

“Yes. So it’s not as absurd for me to be doing it as it is for you to be, when you’re straight.” Baz has backed up almost to the far wall. 

“Who says I’m straight?” Well, that certainly came out of nowhere. That’s not what I intended to say, but even as I hear the echo of my voice in my head I know I’ve never said a truer thing. 

“Aren’t you?”

“I dunno. Never really thought about it before but I’m pretty confident I’m not straight.” 

Baz rolls his eyes. “I’m not prepared to be dealing with your sexual identity crisis at this moment, Snow.” 

“I’d say it’s not so much a crisis as it’s an awake–”

But Baz cuts me off. “Don’t even finish that sentence, Snow. I’m not having this conversation with you right now. Or ever. I’m going to get ready. We’re not speaking of this again.” 

“Baz, please, don’t do this, just talk to me.” 

The en suite door slams shut behind him. 

I drop my head in my hands and yank on my hair until it stings. Fuck. 

I knew I’d fuck it up. I’m good at fucking things up. I’m not so good at fixing them. I want to fix this. I need to. 

I don’t know how. 

_________________________

I don’t know what to expect tonight. I don’t know if Baz will even come back to the room. He spent the whole day avoiding me. Again. Which isn’t that hard on the weekends, since we’ve not got class together, but he hasn’t even shown up for meals. At least not that I’ve seen and I’ve been watching. 

Dev gives me a right proper glare at lunch and Niall growls at me when I get up for a second helping of roast chicken. “Keep your eyes to yourself, Snow.” 

I growl right back but they’re not wrong; I have been staring at them all day, searching for any sign of Baz. 

I think about going to the Catacombs but that’d definitely make things worse. 

All I can do is give him space, since that seems to be what he wants. At least when he’s awake. 

When he’s asleep there’s almost no space between us at all. 

I don’t know what to think anymore. I didn’t imagine him kissing me back. I didn’t imagine the sigh that escaped his lips when I kissed him. Or the way his nails scraped against my scalp or how his cool fingers slid up my spine. 

I remember all of that. Every minute of it. Every shared breath, each searing touch against my skin. Every bump of my leg against the boner in his pants. He certainly wasn’t faking that–that was as real as the aching one I was sporting. 

I’m so caught up in thinking that I’m not paying attention while I eat and I manage to drop a gobbet of potatoes and gravy on my shirt. Blast it all. 

Penny rolls her eyes and shakes her head. It’s not the first time I’ve been a complete numpty at mealtime. Probably not the last. 

I head up to the room after lunch, to change my shirt and that’s when I see it. I’m halfway through the door when I catch sight of the bed. 

Beds, I should say. 

Baz’s bed is back in place, looking as if it had never been magicked away. My food feels like a bag of stones dropped in my stomach. I feel a bit sick. 

His bed is back and this interlude–this weird truce we had–is over before it even had a chance to become something. 

For us to become something. 

I think about the spell. I think about _“there was only one bed”_ and trying to cast it. Pretending Baz’s bed was never replaced. 

But I don’t trust myself. Knowing me, I’d magick _all_ the beds out of Watford leaving just mine or something stupid like that. And I’d not want to give a reason for why I felt the need to cast that particular spell either. 

I can just imagine having to explain it all to the Mage. 

_“You see, sir, I kind of liked sleeping in the same bed as my nemesis, so when his bed came back I thought I’d just cast the spell and keep him close, so to speak. Under my watchful eyes, isn’t that what you always said was the reason why you never moved him out?”_

Right. Not doing that. 

I change my shirt and look around the room again. It’s like it always was before this week. Ordered. Symmetric. 

I sit on my bed. I can smell a hint of Baz’s shampoo, seeing as I’m on his side of the bed. 

Merlin, I’m pathetic. _His side of the bed,_ as if we’re a bloody couple. 

We could be. 

I grab my head, pulling my hands through my hair, making it stand on end, I’m sure. It’ll be a right mess but I’m a right mess at the moment. I hate this. 

I slump down onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow, breathing in the scent of Baz as if it’ll disappear right this instant if I don’t pull every bit of it into my lungs. 

I’m wallowing and I don’t fucking care. 

I don’t know how much time passes before I sit up again, right the mussed up sheets and straighten my shirt. 

It’s all right. I can do this. I can pretend the last few days were some sort of fever dream, the hyperactive imaginings of my overheated mind. Fantasies more like it. Moments I can think back on, like old photographs in a memory box. 

I take one last look around the room before I leave. And then I shut the door on more than just our room. 

____________________

I’m stalking the ramparts when I catch sight of Baz. He’s making his way to Mummers, which surprises me. It’s hours before dark. I race down the steps, practically floating down them, as my magic builds in me. Falling, but not falling. 

I get to the courtyard right as Baz disappears inside Mummers. I slow my pace, put my hands in my pockets, and attempt to put on an air of indifference—just a bloke heading back to his room before dinner, nothing to see here at all. 

I take the steps to the turret two at a time. I don’t know why I’m hurrying. I’m going to be hit with the sight of Baz gloating at the return of his bed but even so, I want to be there to see it. If I’m going to burn it all down, all the what-could-have-beens, then I may as well see his relief with my own two eyes. 

What I see, when I slam open the door to our room, is Baz standing by his bed. 

His singular bed. Mine’s not there. I scan the room, as if expecting him to have hidden it somewhere in plain sight. There’s a rising bubble of excitement in my chest, a hope that’s starting to flare in me, like a match lighting up inside my heart. 

There were two beds. Now there’s one. And there’s Baz, looking excruciatingly uncomfortable, any residual colour draining from his face at the sight of me. 

“What’s this, then?” I ask, as the door slams shut behind me. Baz winces. 

He stands up straighter, throws his shoulders back and looks down his crooked nose at me. It would be a sight more intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that panicked look. “I didn’t see why we had to keep sleeping on your side of the room, Snow. Thought I’d move the bed.” Baz’s eyes dart to my side of the room and then back to his bed. He’s avoiding looking at me directly. 

All my previous irritation with him evaporates away. I _know_ he cast the spell. I know he magicked my bed away. And not by accident.

I know, but he doesn’t know I do, not yet. I’m going to savour this moment. 

“Ok. Doesn’t matter to me, if that’s your preference.” I cross the room, dropping my book bag next to my chair and placing my wand on my desk. I take a look around the room again before meeting Baz’s eyes. “So I guess they haven’t put the missing beds back in Mummers yet.”

His eyes widen and he gives an almost desperate swallow. “Seems not.”

I nod my head. “Hmm. Funny that. I ran into Gareth on the stairs and he said his was back at lunchtime. Two beds in their room, as they should be.” 

Baz chokes, but somehow manages to make it sound like a cough. I know him too well to be fooled. I don’t know how long I can keep this charade up. I’m enjoying his discomfort immensely, but I’m also fighting the impulse to pull him in my arms and snog him into the mattress. 

He draws himself up to his full height and I have to hand it to him—he’s giving it all he’s got. He even gives me a little scoff, for show. It’s ridiculously endearing. “It’s probably taking longer since we’re at the top of the turret.”

I nod again, leaning back against my desk, hands in my pockets. I cross my foot over my ankle. Two can play at this game. “Fair point. I’d be tempted to agree, if it wasn’t for the fact that there were two beds here when I stopped in after lunch.” 

I can see his facade start to crumble, the way his eyes widen, how his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

That sight distracts me, I’m not going to lie. I drag my eyes away from that fascinating sight but I can’t control myself from smiling, now that I know I’ve got him. I tilt my head. “Maybe the spell went wonky, yeah?”

“Must have.” He’s got his arms crossed, the wanker, and he’s staring at the floor. I should put him out of his misery. 

“They might not even get it sorted out by tonight, you know.” I take a step towards him. “Which means we’ll have to share again.” One more step. “I’m thinking we probably need to set some new rules though, if we’re going to keep sharing a bed like this.” His eyes are wide, his pale lips parted, an expression that looks an awful lot like _yearning_ softening his features. 

I’m close enough to touch him now. 

So I do. I put my hands on his shoulders and step into his space. Baz’s arms drop to his sides, hands fisted. I slide my one hand down along his arm, noticing the way he inhales when I do, and I clasp his balled fist until the tension leaves him and he lets me slide my fingers between his. I squeeze once. 

When he squeezes back it’s as if a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders. “Ground rules, yeah?”

Baz blinks at me. “What . . . what do you mean by that, Snow?”

I cup his cheek in my hand and revel in the way he rests his face against it. “Just some basic guidelines. You know, like no hands below the waist.” I grin at him. “At least not yet.” I can’t help but laugh at his outraged expression. “Fine, how about at least not tonight?”

He opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out. I’ve done it. I’ve finally managed it. I’ve broken Baz Pitch. Not with insults, or threats—not even with my sword—but with the tantalizing suggestion of a hand job. 

Will wonders never cease? 

“You see, I want to take this slow.” I press a kiss to his lips. “See where this takes us.” I tilt my head and turn my attention to his neck. His head drops back and he sighs in a way that makes my heart race. I trail kisses up to his jawline, feel the tremble that runs through him as I nuzzle the skin by his ear. 

“Where what takes us?” Baz manages to rasp out. I don’t think he has any idea what that sound does to me. I’ve got him backed up against the wall now, my chest against his, hips flush. I slide my leg between his and press in just a little closer. 

“This. Us. You and me.” I place my lips on his and lick into his open mouth. He finally comes alive at my touch, hand fisting in my shirt, the other sinking into my curls and tugging in a way that makes my skin sear. 

I come up for air and tilt his head down until our foreheads are pressed together. “I don’t know what this is but I want to find out.” I almost lose my train of thought as I get swallowed up in the sea grey depths of his eyes. “I want this, Baz.” I swallow. “I want you.”

His lips are on mine and there’s nothing tentative this time. It’s messy and frantic and hot and I don’t want him to stop. 

He does, moments later, when he pauses for breath. There’s a smile on his face, a smile I’ve never seen from him before. 

A smile for me. 

His hands cradle my face and he presses a kiss to my forehead, gentle and reverent. “Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life, Snow.”

I grin up at him. “You called me Simon before.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did too, you wanker.” 

He opens his mouth to argue more but I put a stop to it with my mouth. It seems I’m good at solving problems with my mouth after all. Just not the way I thought. 

This is so much better. 

Neither of us make it to dinner. 

It’s hours later, when we’re both in Baz’s bed, that the subject comes up again. 

Baz is tracing his finger gently over my chest, following a path up to my neck and then along my jawline to my cheek. It takes me a moment to realise what he’s doing. 

He’s following the path of moles scattered across my skin. I think that revelation hits me harder than anything else so far. 

I want to ask him. Ask him how long he’s thought about doing that. 

I wonder how long I have. 

That’s when he breaks the silence. “You’re all right with crossing the line, then?” His expression is serious. “No regrets?”

I push a lock of his hair behind his ear. Baz’s eyes flutter closed and he leans into my touch. I’ve never seen him look like this. So . . . I don’t know . . . so . . . _soft._

I like it. I like it a lot. 

He’s letting me have this. _He’s letting us have this._

I shift closer to him. “I don’t want to just cross the line, Baz.” I reach up for his mouth, kiss him until we’re both breathless. “I want to _erase it._ ” 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being a challenging event for me, seeing as it is my first time attempting a remix and something that was out of my comfort zone writing wise. I was confused and unsure of how to proceed initially and my remixee f-ing-ruthless-baz had so many good fics! How was I going to choose? In the end I went with the first fic I read by you and one of my favorites. This really stretched my comfort level as a writer, trying to take such a great story and somehow add to it to make it mine while trying to keep to the spirit and mood of the original. I hope I managed to do justice to it! Your dialogue was too good—I had to keep some of it!
> 
> (Also managed to write my first awkward boners so here's to another achievement level unlocked.)
> 
> thanks to [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias%22) for setting this up and to [SHARKMARTINI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/pseuds/SHARKMARTINI) for strongly (very strongly/twisting my arm) encouraging me to take part in this event when I was being a nervous numpty about signing up! So glad I did!


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